To Greet the Morning Together
by 7elda Chick
Summary: Giving great detail to that beloved quest from Majora's Mask, I describe the emotions and actions which bring Kafei and Anju together. (Work in progress. Updating often) -7C


**Chapter 1**

_Anju_

_._

Cremia was generous to offer Romani Ranch as a refuge during the night of the Carnival of Time if I decided to flee, but I have no desire to escape my home. I have trouble accepting the rumors that, every day, spread further throughout the town, as women, men, and children seek an answer from the sky. I do not deny that the moon has grown larger these past few days, but unlike the others, I do not see it as an omen of death.

Every night of my life, I have seen the moon riding high in that black veil of darkness that overshadows the world, and never before had it appeared criminal and destructive to me. Why should I come to fear something I don't believe in? Why should I flee from an unproven theory? Mankind is quick to think that the slightest change from its routine means disaster and it fears what it does not understand; but I am an exception, and I'm sure I am not the only one. The Carnival will come in all her splendor and beauty, but death will not cling to her heels.

Disregarding these thoughts, I find myself pondering a greater fear that rises to my awareness almost constantly. **Kafei—**the mere thought of his name fills me with dread and dismay. A month, he has been missing—a month!

When Kafei and I were young children, we made a promise to each other. The promise was this, that on the day of the Carnival of Time, we'd exchange the masks of the sun and the moon and be married. For years, I had no qualms about him or the promise we, as children, had avowed; yet, since the day of the carnival approaches and I have neither seen nor heard from him in a month's time, an inkling of insecurity surrounds my memory of him. I feel fickle to doubt a man I love so dearly, but I cannot resist wondering if that promise we made will be kept.

Adding to these thoughts is the ambiguity concerning the reason of his disappearance. I rebuke my thoughts when they suggest that I might have said or did something to push him away, yet the more I avert these thoughts, the more compellingly they return, seeming more and more probable. Oh, if only I had the slightest clue, the smallest insinuation that would direct my thoughts toward the truth of his disappearance! But, instead, the answers linger in mystery.

I take a deep breath to quiet my thoughts. It is almost 2p.m. I stand behind the reception desk of the Stock Pot Inn. Since the night of the carnival draws nigh and the Inn my family owns sits closest to the festivities, I expected more costumers, but perhaps the rumors dissuaded their plans. It's a bit disappointing. I'm left alone in a quiet room with nothing but my thoughts to keep me occupied.

So consumed in my own idle thoughts am I that I scarcely hear the creaking of the outside door or the patter of footsteps on the lobby floor. Suddenly, a hand is thrust in front of my face, and I awake from my trance with a startled, "Ah! Uh, uh, uh, umm, umm…" I glance up to greet the familiar face of the postman who stands across the counter. In his outstretched hand is a letter. A postman come to deliver his mail is not inherently an unusual thing, but what baffles me is the fact that the postman does not usually deliver my mail directly to me while I am at work, but he leaves it in its designated box in the corner. Immediately, a feeling in my heart tells me that this letter is something of importance for him to go out of his way to personally deliver it into my ownership. "What is this?" I question him, looking for confirmation of my theory.

"I have delivered this to you!" The postman tends to state the obvious, but I'm not in the mood for his mischief. Taking the letter from him, I decide to answer my own question through observing the source. The letter is small and of a crimson color with an elegant yellow border embellishing its edges. Other than that, it's not much different than the thousands of letters in circulation throughout the mailing service on any given day, yet something about it piques my interest. On the bottom left corner is stamped a very familiar emblem. At sight of it, my hand begins to tremble.

The postman, who never lingers in one place for long once his duty is fulfilled, had begun to make his way back to the door, but I quickly look up and call, "Ah! Wait! This letter, wh-where did you get it?"

The postman turns. "From the postbox." Again, his vague and painfully obvious response discourages me.

"Th-that's not what I mean!" I practically yell. "From the postbox where?"

"From the postbox somewhere." His tone irritates me, and I clench my fists.

"That's not what I mean!" I close my eyes for a moment to compose my emotions, which seem to be slipping out my control. Looking up again, I whisper, almost sobbing, "Please tell me!"

The postman is quiet, and for a moment, I actually believe that he will tell me the answer I seek; but a few seconds later, all the hope my heart formed around his next words is dashed. "It's a secret," he responds.

"I must know!" I demand, but the postman says no more. He turns, opens the door from which he had entered, and disappears. The door shuts behind him, but I, with a start, quickly realize that I am not alone. Beside the counter, a young boy with bright blue eyes, a shock of gold hair, and a vest of green, stands watching me with an unreadable expression. Still a bit shaken by my recent encounter, I hesitate to speak, wondering if this boy had, indeed, witnessed what had just taken place. Finally, though, I muster the nerve to smile.

"Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn… " My voice shakes ever so slightly, and I swallow. "Umm…did you…have a reservation?"

The boy continues to stare at me with those piercing blue eyes, but he finally nods.

"You do have a reservation? That's good…" I rifle through my papers and finally come upon a name which would match his time of arrival. "Mr. Link, is it?" Again, the boy nods. The way he is looking at me, so inquisitive and patient, makes me a bit uncomfortable. "One moment, please. Mr. Link, I have you down for an afternoon arrival." I check his name off the list of reservations and stick the file into a nearby drawer, feeling cluttered and disorganized both inside and out. "Your room is our "Knife Chamber" on the second floor," I explain as I remove a key from a latch on the back wall and hand it out to him. "Here is your key." He takes it reverently, like a little prince. "Please relax…" I murmur as I watch him walk toward the stairs.

When he is out of sight, I sigh in relief. At long last, I'm left alone again. The daunting letter which has caused me so much trouble sits on the counter in front of me, just waiting to be opened and divulge its secrets. My eyes come to rest upon it, and my hand, almost against my own will, reaches for it, but just as I'm about to take hold of its mysterious form, the boy who had recently gone upstairs, steps back into the lobby. I flinch and drop my hand. The boy is wearing a mask, one I instantly recognize to be the carved, painted face of a young Kafei! In surprise and disbelief, I gasp.

"You're also looking for Kafei?" I ask before I can restrain myself or think to approach the question in a more formal manner. The boy paces toward the counter and stoutly nods. I gaze at the mask he wears—a hard, empty shell fashioned to resemble the face of my beloved. A sudden longing, a strong inward desire floods my heart with such force, it motivates me to take a risk I otherwise would have avoided.

"I have a request!" I spoke up quickly and urgently. "Kafei…I have a clue…that will help you find him." I glance at the letter once more, uncertainty and dread pricking my mind, but I quickly dismiss those horrifying thoughts. Turning my gaze back upon the young stranger on whom I'm placing all my trust, I whisper, "Tonight at 11:30, please come to our kitchen. We'll talk then… "


End file.
